


Being but a double

by so_damn_Mishalicious



Series: Witchery AU goodness [7]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: A doppler steals Geralts face, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, And encounters Jaskier shortly after, Drabble, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotions, False Identity, Fluff, Friendship, Genderfluid, Good guy Jaskier, Heartbreak, M/M, One-Sided Attraction, no beta we die like witchers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-19
Updated: 2020-04-25
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:54:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23734174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/so_damn_Mishalicious/pseuds/so_damn_Mishalicious
Summary: 'Today they wear the face of the Witcher that ruined everything. There was a small town nearby, just another hour of walking. They think about setting it on fire, framing it on the mutant. Maybe leave behind a corpse or two.The Witcher ruined their life, now they ruin his."Geralt!"A happy trill rings inside the voice of the man steadily drawing closer. Obviously he knows the Witcher.Shit. '---A doppler steals Geralt's face and is out for revenge. What they did not expect is to run into a certain bard short after, intent on still being their friend.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier | Dandelion & Priscilla, Jaskier | Dandelion/Original Character(s)
Series: Witchery AU goodness [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1686538
Comments: 93
Kudos: 738
Collections: Jaskier or Geralt/others (with or w/out eachother), Witcher





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I read am angsty prompt about a doppler using Geralt's face to chase Jaskier away.
> 
> So I thought to myself: what if Jaskier is just to nice do that?
> 
> After all he's easily liked by many 🤷♀️
> 
> So that's it. That's the story. Enjoy.

Damn that blasted Witcher.

For whatever reason he had to waltz inside their life and ruin it. They had everything - a house, an identity they could use to lead a comfortable life, enough money to never worry for another day. And in strolled the white-haired bastard, attacking them, blowing their cover. Forcing them to flee.

Grumbling under their breath, they draw their cloak deeper into their face. Their steps are heavy, unfamiliarly massive. This form is bulky, huge. Towering over most in height and mass. The good thing about fighting people is the lingering skin contact. Like that, they can easily sneak another face into their collection. Today they wear the one of the Witcher that ruined everything. There was a small town nearby, just another hour of walking. They think about setting it on fire, framing it on the mutant. Maybe leave behind a corpse or two.

The Witcher ruined their life, now they ruin his.

+++

The village is already in sight, when they hear it.

"Geralt!"

A happy trill rings inside the voice of the man drawing closer. Shit.

Obviously he knows the Witcher. It would be better if they- 

"I haven't seen you in months, dear friend! How did you fare? I hope you are well? I have just returned from the most luxurious stay at the court of Aedirn and you wouldn't believe any of what happened there!"

The brunette is talking relentlessly, chatting away, while attaching himself to their side, easy and open about his guard. It's strange to see someone not shy away from their body, even in this form. The rambling is somewhat unnerving, but not unbearable. Also the man takes no offense in their lack of input to the conversation, the other seems to be used to hold it up on his own.

This has to be the bard traveling with the Witcher. Singing his songs of praise. They heard of him, listened to a few of his songs. These are good.

So they walk together into the village, their unwanted companion still at their side, rambling away. He is seriously giving his mouth a run for its money and it is a strange feeling, they dwell on. Hardly anyone is ever talking to them in their natural form. Even disguised as someone else, humans grow suspicious of them over time, like if they scent, there's something wrong.

This man is different, open and kind. It's a pleasant change for once. They'll spare him from the fire.

"Tell me Geralt, where is Roach? Did you leave the poor girl at an inn again? And where are your swords? Are you not here for a contract or a similar matter you always meddle in?"

They have no idea who Roach is or where she is. Following the name it could be a horse or a dog. The Witcher did have neither when attacking them. But the bard provided plenty of reasons in his own questions. Their voice is gravely deep, when they answer.

"Had to leave her behind. I'm just passing through - a doppler caused some trouble in the next bigger town and I'm here to collect intel without rousing its suspicions."

The brunette frowns a bit at that.

"You know dopplers normally prefer to be referred to as 'they' or 'them' not it. Don't know what they did but it irks you really bad, doesn't it?"

That man. He's surprisingly clever. And gentle. Their interest is piqued. A humm answers him.

"Killed a girl, stole her face. It was a mess."

The bard nods, then pats their shoulder with a new smile blooming on his face.

"You'll find them for sure. Now come - how about I buy you some food and drink? This always cheers you up."

They haven't eaten in three days. So they nod.

"Excellent! Maybe I can convince the innkeeper to let me perform at night. I have some new songs, I'd love to play."

+++

It's three days now.

Three days they are in this village with the bard. And there's no fire anywhere.

As promised the man bought them food and drink, kept them company the whole evening until they retired at night. They have a few coins left to pay for the room. Constant need to urge on, to get further away from the white-haired man, has worn them out. So it feels good to sleep in a bed again, even if it's not the best.

They never thought the bard and the Witcher were that close. He's a constant presence around them, at day as well at night. He accompanies them through town, asking people for input on anything out of the normal. There isn't any and they're glad. It's not like they wanted to hunt a real beast in the first place.

Jaskier - that's what the bard calls himself - is not afraid to be with them. Ignoring disturbed looks the villagers shoot him when they walk through it. He's touching them a lot - clapping their shoulder, playfully slapping their chest, touching an arm to show them around. The brunette is volunteering to wash their back after he draws them a bath, even washes their hair and tends to it with devoted care. He's delighted as they accept his proposal of braiding it and gets to work with nimble fingers. The brush he uses to untangle the wet hair feels nice against their scalp and faint tugs on silver strands send little shivers down their spine.

Jaskier is very talented in many ways. The braids do look good, when they check them in a mirror. He's also good with words, sweet talking their way into little treats, like an extra spare of cheese on their meal platters. His best quality besides that, is his voice. Performances are on each evening and he sways the gathering crowd of villagers easily with his lovely voice and beautiful songs. They are listening intently to every word, soaking up the brightness that seems to come from the musician being in his element. It's enchanting. They have smiled more in those three days than in the last years.

For the first time someone looks at them with admiration and gentleness. They belong to truly be the Witcher that the bard see. To make this last.

They compliment his singing after the man returns to their table, two drinks for them in hand. He seems surprised, overly so and they fear they made a mistake, but his face settles in a humble smile.

"Thank you."

+++

The not-Witcher wanders down a street the next day, looking at some stalls on the small market, that sets up once a week. Their stay here is coming to an end soon, but they hope to find something. A small trinket they can leave for the bard, before they part ways. A sign of appreciation for his kindness and companionship. They took some money from drunken guests during the last few days here. It should suffice for this and their way to the next town.

Just a they are about to cross a street, they catch a glimpse of white hair and press themselves into the shadow of the nearest wall.

It's the Witcher. The real one.

Shit.

Right now, he's busy looking at herbs in one of the stalls, so they could slip away unnoticed. But they need to make haste, before he can take up their trail again.

"Geralt? What are you doing there? Are you- oh…"

Jaskier emerges from behind them, looking at the Witcher in the street and non-Geralt standing next to him. They expect the usual despise and fear to blossom on his face. Instead the man huffs, visibly amused.

"I began to wonder, when he would arrive here. Normally we stumble over each other earlier, you know?"

The doppler is stunned, frozen.

"You… knew?"

The bard shrugs.

"I suspected it. You proved me right, when you complimented my singing. He never does that, he's a rude oaf. But I appreciated your praise a lot."

They don't understand. The bard knew? Maybe all along? Why didn't he leave then? Why had he been nice? 

_Why?!_

Jaskier seems to get their inner turmoil and puts a hand on his hip, gesturing with the other.

"You know, I've been traveling with Geralt for decades now. I know how people treat him. The looks of fear and disgust. He pretends he doesn't care, but it still hurts. I've seen the same expression on you, when we first met. You were scared, desperate. Everyone deserves something good in their life. And you never once posed a threat to my well-being, so I told myself: why not enjoy some company?"

A mirthful smiles emerges on his face.

"Also it was a pleasantly intriguing sight to see Geralt's face smile that often."

He leans forward, pecking their cheek before retreating again.

"Farewell my friend. I hope your path will be blessed with good fortune."

He steps away from the wall, into the sun lining the street, then walking down to the stall, cheerily exclaiming a loud,

"Geralt! It's so good to see you, I feared you were swallowed whole by a monster once more."

The bard blocks the other's sight into their direction and they get the hint. Retreating back to the inn, their hurried steps bring them closer and closer to their belongings and a new life they'll set for themselves.

+++

About half an hour of walking further South, they realise what the nagging feeling inside their head is. It's the silence unsettling them, that has been filled with constant chatter and merry tales before. A small smile tugs on the corner of their lips, that now belong to a fair, young woman with golden hair and green eyes.

They miss their bard already.


	2. I'm all out of salt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They meet Jaskier again, after quite some time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The unintended sequel 🤷♀️ the muse bit me and so I wrote another piece. I hope you like it

They meet the next time in Novigrad, in one of the bigger taverns.

They go by 'Priscilla' now, have done so for a few years. The bardic profession isn't always the easiest but the tales they weave and the songs they play are well-received by the audience. Moving from town to town without staying long raises no suspicions like that. It's a blessing that spares them from being chased away once the humans notice they're different. The continent is vast. Lingering in one place is a shame, left them wanting for more, being here and there and dancing like a butterfly in a breeze finally feels like true freedom. Home can be many places, many people. Never before they entertained the wish to see it all. Until they met Jaskier.

When they wander the roads and play the lute they acquired, thoughts stray to the men that changed so much. They wonder how he fares. If he is still alive and following the white-haired Witcher around. They hear his songs, old and new, played by several bards in many towns. The pleasure of listening to the man's beautiful voice itself keeps getting withheld. There's no sign anywhere of the lovely smile and endless kindness that saved them that fateful day, no colorful doublet adorning the right body.

Fall is approaching in large steps with harvest just around the corner. The months of summer have been hot and dry but not overly so. The fields will bloom with enough fruit to keep people easily fed over the colder season. The mood is good all over Redania and so they're making good coin as well. They might be able to winter in a private cabin in the woods like that, without fearing to be discovered or disturbed. Just them and their music. 

Right now they make their living and entertain a full-stocked inn near the port. Sailors, merchants and workers from all over town have gathered to let the evening come to a worthy end with ale, good food and fine entertainment. It's not the first evening they sing here - the keeper offered them a week long hiring in exchange for free board, food and regular baths. They are posing as a lady and it makes many patrons amenable to their wishes. They still prefer neutral clothing, pants over skirts, shirts over blouses, whatever fits best. They have to fight off wandering hands or forced approaches but a blade between fingers or legs is usually enough to chase away any unwanted attention.

So they sing to their heart's desire, their own songs and those of others, beloved classics and their newer creations while swaying on the small stage at the front or dancing through the room. The crowd is pretty receptive, applauding at the end of tunes, stomping their feet at brash drinking carols and throwing a coin or two into their hat, when they pass a table. A cheerful smile is shining back at the patrons or a graceful tip of their head is sent in thanks. They nearly reached the end of their repertory for this evening, when their passing glance lingers on a man in a corner. The bright red of his clothes is unusual for the folk living here, that preferred earthen tones as long the working class is involved. Nobles rarely find their way to the docks, so he has to be a foreigner. Though it was just a glimpse and now the view is obscured again, they would always recognise the person sitting there.

It's their bard, Jaskier.

A wince passes their face as a few tunes come out too high in their agitation, so they quickly rule in their voice again. The song drags endlessly or at least it feels like it, but they keep going strong through another repeat of the chorus. Then it's finally over and with a flourish bow, they leave the stage. The serving maid hands them an ale in passing, winking in a fond manner, and they make their way to the corner, where the bard has huddled into. He's staring at the tankard in front of him, like its very being is somehow offensive, lost in thought and unaware of their approach. The man seems tired, lost and it lets them hesitate. It's him, they know. But this Jaskier is different. 

"It's been some time, dear friend."

The man looks up, irritated by the words and needs a few moments to sort them in. When they parted for the last time, they had worn the Witcher's face. Now they wear theirs. Priscilla's.

The bard hasn't changed much to their surprise. He has barely aged, maybe caught a wrinkle or two but nothing dire. No grey is showing in his brown hair. His eyes are locking with theirs and they notice the said hue in those orbs immediately. Something's wrong. Is he injured?

Realisation clicks inside the brunette and he smiles again, though not as bright as they remember.

"Oh it's you! It's been long for sure, my dear. You look dazzling - come sit with me and tell me how you fared."

There's only light pack that is moved out of the way, so they can sit with him. He still has his extraordinary lute, tied to the bag he travels with. Their eyes roam over the people present. No black armour or white hair anywhere. Turning back they take their seat.

"So you're the famous bard I heard so much about! Often I wondered who this Priscilla might be, that writes these delightful songs I encounter every so often and was left wanting to meet. But now I find we're already acquainted! It's a pleasant surprise and it's good to see you doing so well."

Jaskier is still versed with his words, rambling away with little difficulty. They listen, enjoying the tilts of his voice and the new-found gleam of his eyes.

"It's good to see you, too. And though my songs might linger around near the coast, it's nothing compared to your creations. There's rarely a week when I'm not enduring a repetition of 'Toss a coin' and how long has it been around? Two decades? I fear it will plague me until my dying day."

A flicker passes through the smile upon mentioning the song and they come to understand the reason for the bard to look so lost and broken. Dimmed like the sun hidden behind heavy clouds.

That blasted Witcher...

Waving it off with a little gesture, the other huffs in an amused way. "Well, when your patience runs thin already, imagine walking in my shoes. I wrote dozens of songs and still people request that trite ol' thing. Even now I… I cannot escape it."

To see things that once sparked joy turn to haunting ghosts, is not pleasant experience. They know their fair share of that. Nodding in acknowledgement, they try changing the subject to a less hurtful one.

"So where are you headed next? It doesn't look like your planning to stay here."

Jaskier shakes his head, his fringe falling into his face. His hair has grown quite a bit.

"I intended to return to Oxenfurt. The academy offered me a position as a tutor there, to train the future generations of bardlings," he says, a little mirth very evident in his words, "and it looks like I can be quite an inspiration to some, who seek it."

They chuckle, all lighthearted and playful. "You are, for sure."

Through the evening they talk about everything and nothing. They tell about their first steps into being a proper bard, the back-water holes they played, just to start somewhere. Jaskier's adventures entail the hunt for a djinn, meeting vampires and drowners and then a dragon. They wonder what this man hasn't encountered in his life. Not much it seems. It's fascinating to listen to the other, seeing him in his element and closer to his old self, deeply invested in a proper retelling of events. As a smith of words he twists and turns the details, forms them into a tale of epic measure. Still a hint of sadness lingers throughout the night, making them wish to erase it from existence.

Warmed by fire and ale, full with laughter and food brought to them by the wench, both bards are relaxed in each other's company. Seeing Jaskier so calm and jubilant makes them bold after they chug down the rest of their mugs' content.

"How about you don't return to Oxenfurt just yet?"

The brunette blinks at them, flushed and a little dazed from the late hour and the alcohol consumed, saying nothing. Not done with what they wanted to say, they resume,

"Let's travel together, along the coast. Just Jaskier and Priscilla, troubadours and poets, side by side. Making their way across the land and stealing hearts, wherever they go. There's still plenty time to settle down in Oxenfurt and teach nosy brats, when you're old and boring and your back hurts too much to do funny things."

The brunette seems to mull over the words in his head, face propped on one hand, nibbling on his lower lip. He speaks with a subtle slur, after wetting his lips with a hint of tongue. It's endearing. "You think so? I can easily turn into a nuisance."

Their gaze softens and they shake their head,

"Never, Jaskier. You saved me back then and I'd be humbled to spend some time with you. Come with me and I will prove it."

Their eyes meet once more and the insecurity in the blue ones' pains their heart. They will give that Witcher a good piece of mind, were they ever to encounter him again. Eventually the brunette nods and a slow grin spreads all over his face, making them tingly all over.

"Very well, I'm looking way too good to hide behind behind some academy walls anyway - when do we start?"

+++

Travelling with Jaskier is easy. They fit together, like they had all those years ago. With his knowledge collected over years of walking the path, they have an endless list of topics to talk about, while their path leads them away from the sea instead of bringing them closer. It seems to be a sensitive matter for their companion, so they don't enquire about it. He'll tell them if he wishes to.

Jaskier is quick and efficient to set up camps outside, though they take care of the fire as he shies away from that. They lie together on their bed rolls at night, looking at the stars scattered in the sky, making up names for constellations that make them laugh.

They huddle together under a makeshift hideout as a summer storm catches them by surprise, drenching them to the bones, looking to share their warmth. 

The hours between villages or towns are filled with music, played by their lutes. By rhymes they try to make into a new poem. And by songs they create, together, improvising for each part to fit to the other perfectly. They participate in more than one of their guild's contest and win them all, without exception. 

Once Priscilla even hits a man with their lute over the head, a sore loser denouncing the Jaskier's skills, accusing him of copying lyrics. It almost grows into a brawl, before the duo grabs the price money and runs, just after the scoundrel's face kisses the ground. Not stopping before they left a good distance between them and the place of contest, they break into a fit of giggles, while they run. It stings horribly and their lungs scream from the extortion but it feels so worth it.

They later learn the man is called Valdo Marx. Jaskier hates him with passion and so do they.

On several occasions they share a bed or a tub, sacrificing modesty to save on the coin they earn. The air is never tense when they do, their touches useful, platonic at best. Jaskier gives wonderful massages that make them sigh in pleasure and loves tending to their long blonde hair, braiding it in various hairstyles whenever he feels like it. When there is a market, he buys little things to put in too, pins or flowers mostly and smiles like the sun whenever they wear it. In exchange they hunt down his favorite scrubs and oils, perfumes and ointments he frequently uses to make any place smell like home. 

Night terrors ail Jaskier's rest at night, making him shoot up with a cry, tears still running down his face. They wake often enough, though he tries to stall his sobs, to hide the pain inside his heart and soul away. They tolerate none of that, instead pull him into a hug, hands patiently rubbing his back until he's ready to settle down again. Some nights it never happens, so they stay up with him, keeping company. Others he falls asleep again, cradled in their embrace and they draw the blanket up over their combined shoulders, relishing in the warmth.

Jaskier is funny and clever, witty words and sharp tongue. He's honest and loyal to a fault, also attractive in both character and appearance. His impulsive nature and dramatic attitudes attract all kinds of trouble but they can't find themselves bothered by that. It turns every day into a adventure, another memory to keep and treasure. They are caught in a whirlwind of wild ventures, comforting company and sensations inspiring countless songs.

They're not surprised to find they have fallen for the other. Hard and fast at that. 

The harvest has passed and the even days grow gradually colder. Their path has lead them to Toussaint, where wine is flowing in streams into their chalices during shared performances. Seated together outside a merchants' house they enjoy the sun rays warming them, discussing possible next steps.

"I think we could return to Redania, through Cintra this time. The lioness isn't my biggest fan, after the disaster of a betrothal bankett, but the little princess is. I wrote a ballad just for her and I want to see that face, when I debut 'The lion cub of Cintra' for the very first time!"

A grand gesture follows the words, Jaskier's face open, his posture unguarded and relaxed. Over the course of their journey the wounds left on his heart had mended. Maybe they aren't healed for good but it leaves him less troubled. He's incredibly beautiful that way and they wish they could kiss him in that very moment, his entire being sparking with joy and grandeur. But they know they can't. There's someone else lingering inside his mind, having captured the man with his entire being and that has yet to pass.

So they nod along, affirming his suggestion.

"I'm not a fan of courts but if they're willing to pay fair enough, then I won't decline."

They make it to Attre before the nights turn too crisp to sleep outside. The breeze of the sea tangles in their locks, bearing the first whiffs of snow coming closer to the city. Finding the way towards an inn at dusk, Jaskier takes it into his hands to haggle for the rooms, while they acquire a warm meal. They're seated near a window, as the other tends to enjoy that, facing towards the shore and it makes a lovely sight. The other bard joins them soon enough, passing a key over the table.

"Find here my triumphant return, I have acquired suitable chambers for a night of pleasant sleep."

They snort fondly, gesturing him to sit.

"You are a hero, but now sit down your noble arse before the food turns cold like the tip of your nose."

Over the exchanges of friendly banter during the meal, they notice just how they exhausted both of them are. Jaskier excuses himself with a mild yawn after nagging about their lack of rest as well. Shooing him off with a grunted, 

"Just go and rest, you need your beauty sleep! I will see you tomorrow."

they order another mug of watered down ale. It may not be the best, but also not the worst they had. Watching the subtle waves play over the port outside, they miss the arrival of another guest making his way to the innkeeper. It's the rough, deep voice that drags them from their thoughts. They'd recognize it anywhere.

"I'm looking for a pair of bards."

It's him. The Witcher.

He still wears the same dark armour like years ago, draped under a thick woollen coat. The owner gestures vaguely into their direction and they avert their gaze. Lips are pursed to not say something rude, when heavy steps approach. They pointedly keep looking out the window. Voice a sneer, they greet the approaching figure with an "I'm here to drink alone."

They're answered with a grunt and can't stall an eye roll. He really is a master of words, isn't he? Still he doesn't seem bothered by their despise.

"Are you Priscilla? I heard you're in company of another bard, a man with an Elven lute."

A shrug of their shoulder is all he gets. He deserves no answer. Furthermost he doesn't deserve Jaskier. It's better to keep the Witcher away from him, to spare their friend more pain.

"Could be. I do not see how this is any of your business."

"I need to talk to him."

Whipping around, blonde strands flinging with the motion, they bristle at the form looming at their table.

"You need nothing, Witcher, and nobody as far as I'm aware of. You chased him away, with nothing at hand to defend himself. Give me a good reason, why I should even consider to let you talk to him and not simply run your arse out of this establishment."

They're fire, hissing and spitting like an alley cat. Angry for what Jaskier had to endure, what made him look so forlorn when meeting him months ago. They want to scratch and bite and hurt the man who did that, so he shares the agony he brought. The Witcher indulges their rage in silence. Something about his slumped shoulders and muted eyes makes their temper deflate a bit. His voice is rough, when he opens his mouth, like he hasn't spoken that much in a long time.

"I know you are close friends, have traveled together for a while now. I understand your anger about what happened and I… come to apologise."

The man bows his head, heavy with shame.

"I acted wrong and stupid, out of hurt pride and Jaskier had to face it, because he was still there. I just…"

He wrings for words, trying to say something not turning the situation for worse,

"I want to let him know, I regret it. I lost my only friend over my own idiocy. I tried to find him, right after it happened, but couldn't and now… there's no chance he will forgive me, I nurture no hope in this regard. But he deserves a proper apology and then I'll stay away for good."

They know that look. Lost, sad, broken.

It was the same that Jaskier wore, months ago. The look of a broken-hearted man.

The Witcher loves the bard. And Jaskier loved him, still does.

It makes them want to scream. In irritation, hurt and despair. But they don't. Not in a room full of people.

The Witcher lingers nearby for a minute, enduring the silence before accepting defeat and turning to walk away. They bite their lip, mind racing what to do.

The other doesn't deserve it, brought it upon himself. He should suffer for what he did.

Their eyes fall on his hunched back and they curse under their breath.

"Witcher!"

The man stops and turns around once more, seeing that they stood from their seat in the spur of the moment. They take a deep breath and close their eyes for a second. It hurts what they are about to do but it's the right thing to do.

"He's asleep upstairs, tired from the journey. Show up in the morning, with decent breakfast and a thought-through honest apology and I'll let you talk to him. Otherwise bid farewell to your dick."

Jaskier gave them a second chance to be better. Others should have one too. Even this stupid fuck of a Witcher.

The white-haired man nods before exiting the building again. They slump back into their seat, all strength suddenly gone from their body. Resting their head on crossed arms on top of the table, they order two more ales.

They will direly need it.

+++

"So, you will be alright?"

Jaskier is standing in front of the inn with them, lute in hand and pack on his bag. He worries for them, leaving Priscilla on their own to follow the Witcher once more.

"I mean, I could totally understand if you are loathing me for leaving your side. I promised you the court of Cintra, instead-"

They silence him with a gesture of their hand. A formidable talent they rarely use but comes handy in the times of rambling. 

"Don't try to talk yourself out of this, Jask. You need to go, with him. And I won't stop that." 

The Witcher is sitting on his horse, some yards down the road, staying far enough not to overhear their conversation. Even with him and Jaskier making up, they are still mad at him for many reasons and don't want him anywhere near if then can help it.

"Also I pass on the stay in a Cintran dungeon. And don't pretend it would have been unlikely for that to happen. The lioness has a foul temper and the both of us, combined with her and Cintran ale might have been a deadly combination."

The brunette cackles about the remark and they join in. A last shared laugh before their ways separate once more. Though it pains them to see him go, they know it couldn't be any other way.

Jaskier's place is with the Witcher. It had been wonderful as long as it lasted.

So they take a step forward this time and peck the bard's lips, stealing a little something for them to hold on to.

"Watch out for yourself. And if he's not good to you, let me know. I'll see to his castration."

They turn away from the baffled look on Jaskier's face and leave the city to the other direction of where the duo is heading.

It's them again, on their own with just their lute and wanderlust for companions. Stray tears seek the way down their cheeks while the cold winds sting in their eyes. The pain will get better they know, time will heal the wound. But right now, they take it all in, the emotions, the memories and the knowledge of what they held in their hands but could never truly have.

A soft sob falls from their lips. They miss their bard already.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to leave some feedback in the comments 😘


End file.
